


therefore is winged Cupid painted blind

by blackkat



Series: hawks 'verse [20]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Humor, M/M, contains teenagers joking about sex, in case that's a squick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “You know this is the less flammable one, right?” Jesse asks, even as he scans the can of hair spray.The boy in front of his register, just about his age but wearing about twice as many chains on his person as Jesse privately thinks is necessary, gives him a scathing look and slaps a bill down on the counter.“It’s forhair,” he says, like Jesse is an idiot for even assuming there might be another reason he’s buying it.
Relationships: CT-5597 | Jesse/Darth Maul, Jon Antilles/CT-7567 | Rex
Series: hawks 'verse [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825195
Comments: 22
Kudos: 554





	therefore is winged Cupid painted blind

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Ok, but in Hawks verse, Mail spikes his hair, so it looks like little horns all over his head. Horns that match placement of his zabrak horns.

“You know this is the less flammable one, right?” Jesse asks, even as he scans the can of hair spray.

The boy in front of his register, just about his age but wearing about twice as many chains on his person as Jesse privately thinks is necessary, gives him a scathing look and slaps a bill down on the counter.

“It’s for _hair_ ,” he says, like Jesse is an idiot for even assuming there might be another reason he’s buying it. It’s his voice that catches Jesse's attention, though, soft and dark, and Jesse very determinedly doesn’t have a reaction as he bags the water bottle, sandwich, hairspray, and candy bar and takes the money.

“Well, yeah,” Jesse says, and checks the total. Frowns, and then checks it again. “But that’s not why most people buy it.”

Golden eyes narrow, and the boy looks from Jesse to the bag on the counter. “Is there a problem?” he asks pointedly.

“You're five bucks short,” Jesse says, and pretends very hard that he doesn’t see the boy’s expression twist with something between rage and shame, how he doesn’t even try to reach for the wallet that Jesse saw was otherwise empty. But—

He was going to get one of Charger’s sandwiches for lunch, and he already paid Rex for it, so if he just…skips, that’ll cover it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jesse says, and very deliberately tucks the receipt into the pocket of his apron. “I've got it covered.”

Instantly, the boy bristles. “I don’t want your _charity_ ,” he says dangerously, leaning across the counter like he’s going to grab Jesse and deck him.

Jesse just scoffs, because this guy is tall and whipcord lean and muscular, but he’s got _nothing_ on Kix when he’s coming out of an exam binge. “Great,” he says. “Good for you. Just take the damn bag and get out of my line, I'm on the clock.”

The boy glances behind himself automatically, taking in the tall, hooded figure who’s waiting back by the stand of trail mix. With a hiss of aggravation, he grabs the bag, turns on his heel, and stalks out of the general store.

“You're _welcome_!” Jesse calls after him, but the only response he gets is an aggressive jangle of the bells over the door as it slams shut.

Quietly, Rex's big boyfriend approaches the counter, setting his pile of granola bars down on it beside a bottle of water. “Are you all right?” he asks, and a flicker of pale eyes between Jesse and the door makes Jesse smile.

“I'm fine,” he tells Jon, and then, “Rex said he told you to at least get a sandwich if you're going hiking.”

“I'm fine—” Jon starts.

“There had better not only be granola bars on that counter!” Rex calls from the stockroom, and Jesse hides his grin as Jon winces.

“One sandwich?” he asks, smirking.

Jon pauses, flicking a glance at the still-swaying bells above the door and then at him. “Make it two,” he says softly. “Which is your favorite?”

Jesse swallows, and—having a vague crush on his brother’s boyfriend is the most predictable, ridiculous teenage thing in a lifetime that hasn’t been anything like ordinary, but Jesse doesn’t know that he would have skipped it. It’s _nice_. Just—as long as no one else ever finds out. Including Rex. _Particularly_ Rex.

“Turkey,” he says, and Jon gives him a small smile and inclines his head.

“Two turkey, then,” he agrees, and Jesse rings him up, the boy and his voice and his golden eyes almost completely out of mind.

Jesse is halfway through a mind-numbing shift that makes his grandfather’s assigned essay on ancient Mandalorian clan migrations look fascinating in comparison—which is the only reason he’s halfway through it when Jaster doesn’t want it until next Monday—when the bell over the door chimes. He’s in the middle of wrestling with a sentence, but no one immediately calls for his help, so he keeps writing, listening for the footsteps that will undoubtedly retreat into the shelves.

But they don’t. instead, there's a long pause, and then they approach the counter.

“You,” a very familiar voice says, low, dark, and something prickles down Jesse's spine as he jerks his head up to see the boy from the other day standing on the other side of the counter. Golden eyes lock with his, then narrow, and the boy says almost accusingly, “You are the one from the other day.”

“It’s not like anyone else works weekday afternoons in here,” Jesse says, rolling his eyes. Looks him over, and then says, “Hey, I guess you really did use it for your hair.”

“Of course I did,” the boy says sharply, and puts a hand up to touch the spikes his hair has carefully been styled into. They're kind of cute. Jesse doesn’t really have a type, but—thig guy isn't _not_ his type. Even if he is wearing a lot of black.

Jesse just shrugs. “My brothers in the fire department are grateful. You’d be surprised how many people come out here to start fires.”

The boy pauses, weighing this, and then says abruptly, “I am Maul.” And then, like it physically pains him to get the words out, “Thank you.”

Whatever effect that gratitude might have is promptly ruined by the face he pulls.

Jesse stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing. He leans back in his chair, snickering, and says, “Now we _both_ just feel awkward. Did someone put you up to saying that?”

Maul scowls at him. “Of course not,” he retorts, and drops a ten on top of Jesse's laptop. “For your troubles.”

“If it was trouble I wouldn’t have done it,” Jesse says, and pushes the bill back. “My family owns the store. It’s fine.”

Maul glares like he’s about to protest, and he very pointedly doesn’t retrieve the money. Before he can say anything, though, Jesse raises his hands in surrender. “Look, I'm on my lunch break in like ten minutes, if you want to pay me back, just buy me lunch or something.”

For a long moment, Maul stares at him with narrowed eyes. “And take you somewhere romantic to eat it, I suppose,” he scoffs.

Jesse gives him a smirk. “If you want to go _that_ far I'm going to need more than a sandwich,” he retorts, and Maul looks away with a disgusted huff.

He does buy Jesse a sandwich, though. And he even throws in a bag of chips when Jesse offers to buy their sodas, so apparently he’s not _quite_ as angry as he looks.

The spiked hair is still cute, but Jesse gets a feeling saying that won't be welcome, so he keeps his mouth shut.


End file.
